


Jealousy

by smallsteps32



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-27
Packaged: 2018-07-27 03:29:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7601653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallsteps32/pseuds/smallsteps32
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Douglas Richardson and Hercules Shipwright have known each other a long time. That doesn't mean Douglas ever thought they would end up where they did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure what this is. I've been thinking about Douglas' relationship with Herc for a while and thought I'd give it a shot. It's rambly, like my writing always is, and the end got away from me, but I hope you enjoy it.

JEALOUSY

Asking for advice or confirmation had never been one of Carolyn’s strong points, and as she was CEO of her own airline, no one who knew her really expected her to take the opinion of others into account when making decisions. She didn’t ask Douglas what he thought about flying with Herc – although he was grateful to be made Captain after well over a decade of loyal service. True to form, she had hired him, given him free reign from the Flight-Deck to the Galley, and left Douglas to get over it in his own time.

It was weeks after OJS Air first took to the sky, newly named and lighter than ever before without the weight of gold wiring, that Carolyn raised a hand, taking Douglas aside without moving an inch.

Herc and Arthur carried on ahead of them. The airport was a maze of long, glass walled corridors. After a long, rather tedious flight to Schiphol, Douglas was glad of the background noise. It hadn’t been a _bad_ flight, per say. It was just that after years of flying with Martin Crieff – dare he admit it, spending whole days with a man who might as well have been the best friend he had ever had – being locked away with Hercules Shipwright left his nerves particularly ruffles. It wasn’t _terrible_ , but it was _lacking_... noticeably.

There was far less laughter. Arthur and Carolyn were a bright spot, not that he would ever admit it, but they couldn’t be there all the time.

“Douglas, a word if you will,” Carolyn said as she pulled him aside, letting the crowds part around them.

“Anything for our esteemed leader.”

“It’s been a long day, don’t start.”

Douglas sighed and conceded to wait and listen, thumbs hooked in his pockets. Honestly, all he wanted was to find the pilots’ lounge and put his feet up, but there was no sense in delaying a conversation that Carolyn had set her heart on.

“Douglas, I know I don’t consult with you often-”

“ _Often_ seems far too generous a word for how little you consult with me,” Douglas interjected.

“And I’m not really doing it now,” Carolyn continued. “I simply wanted a word with you regarding a decision I’ve already made and don’t plan on going back on.” She paused a moment, gave him a chance to speak again, and ploughed onwards when he merely raised an eyebrow. “I _wanted_ to make sure you’re not terribly put out by having to share the Flight-Deck with Herc – don’t say a word, Douglas, I’m not finished. I’ve hired him, I did it _knowing_ you don’t always make the effort to get along, and I’m not changing my mind.”

“Then you’ve lost me, Carolyn. What are you asking?”

“I am asking whether... whether you’re alright,” Carolyn explained. She huffed and adjusted the rings on her fingers, haughtily diverting attention from the concern that wrinkled her brow. “Believe it or not, I don’t need unhappy pilots. A minor quibble here or there is fine – lord knows I’ve heard enough of _those_ over the past few years. But if there is something more – something more than a petty competition between yourself and Herc... Let’s be serious, Douglas – I haven’t the time to hire anyone as experienced as you and I can’t sack Hercules now that I’ve married him, so... I need to know that there are no deeper issues.”

Douglas didn’t answer at first, although the words were on the tip of his tongue.

~~~

Douglas never disliked Hercules Shipwright – not when they met, at least. Air England was full of shiny new up-starts and it made sense that they were drawn to men their own age, who they could ignore just as comfortably as they could talk to, for the sake of not feeling so afloat in their new world of jet-setting and responsibility. It took months for them to meet, after Douglas was initially inducted into the airline, but once they were brought together he and Herc always seemed to be brought onto the same flights, sent to the same countries, or hidden away in the same set of offices to fill out the paperwork the Captains wouldn’t touch.

“It’s like being in school again, isn’t it?” Herc remarked one night, from behind the desk on the other side of the room.

Douglas scoffed and flicked a paper aeroplane his way.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he drawled. “At least we got to _leave_ school at the end of the day. It was practically a breeze compared to this.”

Years later, Douglas would curse himself for letting too much slip through the net. He had been working with Rory for months now, listening, learning, silently wishing he could combat the world as well as his Captain did. It was all in the way you behaved, Douglas thought – no sweat for a seasoned member of every Drama club available since he was six years old. His confidence had never been low, but it was easily shaken of late.

He had been trying to be cool... and shown the cracks instead.

They were friends, Douglas thought – not that he would ever ask. They had a lot in common. They both loved art, and music, and romance and when the Flight-Deck grew quiet at night, or they wound up in a bar, they would swap stories, or sing, or offer one another advice regarding their latest conquests. Douglas was thrilled at first to have someone _like him_ – someone who thought like him, and played along with his word games despite the odd look he shot him the first few times.

It was _good_ to have someone by his side who was on even-footing, who understood the things that he loved, who was suave and confident...

Until a prickle of realisation became a stubborn shard of resentment... because Herc was all of these things, but it was effortless.

Herc was sure of himself without needing to pause a moment to articulate his statements in his head before they turned into sounds. There wasn’t a flicker of doubt in his mind – not one that made an impression. Douglas may have been naturally talented – _more_ so in fact – but a flare for the dramatic and a poetic turn of phrase didn’t seem to matter quite so much when they were on the job. For a man who had spent his youth moulding himself into a master musician and a quick wit, it was an unpleasant surprise to learn that their superiors were only impressed by proper procedure and log-books completed on time... which Herc was meticulous in doing.

Herc didn’t need a Rory to fashion his ego around. He didn’t need to practise being the man he wanted to be. He didn’t charm and impress just to make a point – he did it by accident, it seemed, and looked far too pleased with himself when he earned a round of laughs.

“I don’t suppose you’ve heard back from our supervisor yet?” Herc asked one day as they were passing through the gate on their way to the pilots’ lounge. “He caught me after the trip to Mongolia – just wanted a quick word.”

“Hmm? No, I’m afraid I haven’t had the honour,” Douglas replied, nudging his hat down over his brow.

Although he shrugged, he wondered how Herc could view a trip to their supervisor’s office with anything other than dread. Perhaps he had managed to make it through a lifetime without getting into trouble – no detentions or ‘concerned’ members of staff commenting on his potential.

“Well I’m sure you’ll be next,” Herc said cheerfully. “Prepare yourself for disappointment though. The coffee he’s got in there is miles better than the slop they give us. I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied again.”

No, Herc did everything Douglas did without the effort.

He didn’t need to push himself.

Herc hadn’t dropped out of medical school and he didn’t drink to keep himself from thinking too hard about his spare time. Herc had been named for his parents’ passion for planes – born for his chosen career. He had never needed to doubt himself and even though he knew it was wrong, Douglas couldn’t stop watching him from the corner of his eye when they flew together, bitterness welling at the back of his throat. Douglas had thought for years that he was born to be a doctor – his parents had certainly thought so, and his brother had laid a fairly impossible road to deviate from – and it had turned out to be a lie.

Douglas may have modelled himself on Rory, but he wanted what Herc had.

They were friends for years – the sort that could go months without seeing one another, but once their paths crossed they gravitated around each other for the comfort and ease it provided in terms of plans and company.

If a long flight brought them to the same airport, Douglas lounged with his feet up, scratching out the last of the paperwork until Herc wandered in – work finished, of course – and suggested some place he knew. It became a competition – one which Douglas’ knowledge of arts and culture and his ability to make friends with a smile and a promise of compensation gave him the advantage in. Herc may have had better luck with the ladies they met out and about, but Douglas knew his way around the people that inhabited the airports.

Stewardesses were fond of him while Herc was more successful with strangers. That would have been fine had Douglas not longed for romance – a lasting relationship – while Herc was happy to swan around with a pretty face and marry her if she was keen.

They knew each other well, they played games, dared one another to do ridiculous things, compared flying techniques, and rose up through the ranks out of time with one another, but never too far behind.

Herc took it all in his stride. Douglas treasured every promotion, confidence pinned to his success.

The only problem was that Herc knew.

Herc knew damn well that Douglas tried harder than he cared to admit, and it brought something sour and unpleasant to the boil underneath his skin. It strained the smiles he wore when they were amongst their colleagues and left Douglas itching to keeping moving, keep proving himself, keep making an impression of his own.

Douglas could handle feeling jealous and small.

It was part of his charm – the reason, he knew years later, that he got along so famously with men like Mr Birling – and how he handled dealing with the awkward silences that arose when he visited his parents at Christmas. He could handle the way his first wife rolled her eyes, disappointment coming from her in waves when he let slip the fact that he was staying still – a Captain, perhaps, but he had peaked, and no amount of schemes or new friends would convince his superiors to give him any _more_ responsibility. His second wife had been more upset about the drinking and the hours he spent far too far from his second child, but Douglas couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he didn’t know how to stop and he didn’t know how to quiet the frustration he felt each time Herc was entrusted with a command over him.

It was worse because Douglas knew he was only showing himself up.

Herc was there, in the wake of the first divorce. He joined him in the pub behind their own airport, bought him a drink, and patted his back in a companionable way. The man may have been an unpleasant reminder of where he was falling short, but Douglas had to admit, he had heart enough to be a decent friend when he wanted to.

“I’m not sure what to say really, except that it’s a crying shame,” Herc said. They sat side by side, close enough that he could nudge Douglas’ elbow and raise a glass. “If it helps... I’m not sure my own marriage isn’t going the same way.”

Douglas perked up at that. He didn’t even feel guilty for the pleasure coiling in his gut.

“Is that so?” he asked. “I thought Sandra was _very_ fond of you.”

“We have some differences of opinion,” Herc replied.

“And that’s enough to make her leave you?” Douglas pushed. Then he paused, really _looked_ at Herc, and could have sworn as realisation sunk in. “Oh, I _see_. You’re leaving _her_. Political differences, is it? Honestly, I thought you had more-”

“It’s not that. We don’t talk anymore.”

They left it at that. Douglas didn’t want to know and Herc didn’t want to tell.

It should have cemented something, Douglas thought – reassured him that there was nothing to feel bad about. But it wasn’t real. Herc bounced back and he watched Douglas with a light in his eyes that wasn’t nearly as subtle or as pleasant as Douglas would have liked. The worst of it was that Herc was the sort of man who hated to think he was anything but sympathetic.

No... Herc knew exactly how hard Douglas clung to his confidence. He knew where the holes in Douglas’ armour were because he was smart enough and quick enough to witness the moments of weakness... and there was such a thing as having too much in common.

Two decades in and no matter how much Douglas _didn’t_ dislike Hercules Shipwright, he started to detest the smug way he smiled and the syrupy lilt of his voice when he knew Douglas was lagging – or worse, when Douglas was doing just fine and Herc was still outshining him with his procedural spiel, his pseudo activism, and his way of putting things right without resorting to convoluted schemes. It was as though the man didn’t know how to have fun and yet he was still universally adored.

Douglas took up smuggling for a laugh. It started with one friend sending something innocent across the border. Then he boasted and networked and soon it was the only thing keeping him entertained. It wasn’t about impressing anyone. It was about the thrill of deception and the joy of succeeding and the smirk that lightened the weight on his shoulders when he could look Herc in the eye and know he was slipping something right under his nose.

It also brought home a few gifts for his daughters, and gave him a reason to keep his head clear. Alcohol only resulted in mistakes. It was impossible to resist altogether, but if he was occupied, he could stand on his own two feet for a while.

Herc knew, of course, and that made it all the sweeter.

There was something great about having something to prove, Douglas decided as he shook the hand of a man who needed a crate of tennis balls sent to Barcelona. He was flying with Herc today, as a relief pilot, which would free him up enough to get a game or two going in the meantime. There was time to boast, and to gossip.

Nobody needed to know about their extra cargo, but Herc knew. He had a habit of letting Douglas run wild and sitting back to watch the results – good so far, but there had been some scrapes. It might have been like old times, except Herc was sickeningly righteous and he couldn’t help raising Douglas’ hackles, as though reminding him which of them was reliant on recklessness and which of them was still living a fairly effortless life.

“I’m just saying, Douglas – there are proper channels,” Herc said from the Captain’s seat.

“And where would be the fun in that?” Douglas replied. He tossed a lemon in the air and waited for the stewardess to return. He would slip it in her pocket when she passed. Herc wouldn’t play, but that didn’t matter.

“Far be it from me to judge-”

“Then don’t.”

That was how the conversation always ended.

It stung, Douglas realised, as he listened to the hum of the engines. Herc was always there, a constant presence in his life, and yet slowly but surely he stopped playing their word games, stopped laughing at his jokes, and started looking _down_.

Not literally of course. Douglas was still taller.

Nevertheless, where others swooned at Douglas’ brains, his heart, and his charm, Herc achieved the same results with a smooth manner and barely a toe out of line. The only reason Douglas didn’t say anything was because they were _friends_... Herc was still the first port of call when he was somewhere unfamiliar. They still sought one another out, because that’s what people did when they had known each other as long as they had. They still had things in common, even if they no longer discussed music and art and romance.

Even if Herc looked down on him – thought him silly, or weak, or ridiculous – he was there.

Until he wasn’t.

When Douglas was eventually caught with kimonos sewn into his jacket, Herc was nowhere to be found.

Had he been standing aside, smug and rolling his eyes, Douglas might have forgiven him. After all, _he_ wasn’t exactly a paragon of good graces. But Herc wasn’t there at all. Douglas felt as though he were being summoned to the Headmaster’s office after failing to hand in his coursework. He was reminded of sitting in the Chief Doctor’s office after he had feinted when presented with a live brain – useless, failed, unfit for the role he had pursued.

All he had wanted was a story, Douglas realised. He always understood his motivations _after_ the event. He had wanted a story to tell – one that would captivate an audience the way Herc did when he rambled about one cause or another. He wasn’t sure who for.

Years later, Douglas learned that if his stories were made for anyone, they were made for Martin Crieff – who listened, and laughed, and criticised him without once looking at him smugly, or as though he had expected him to fail all along.

For the time being, he was out of Air England.

Herc was in the office, it turned out. The room was quiet so late in the evening.

“I assume you know,” Douglas said as he collected what little he kept in his desk.

Herc set his pen aside and looked up at him. He frowned. He seemed genuinely sad. Regardless, he folded his hands together, didn’t rise, and said, “It’s your own fault, Douglas. You had to know what was going to happen.”

Just like that, standing too far away to do anything worthwhile, Douglas hated him.

He hated Herc for standing aside. He wanted to demand to know why Herc had sat back and smirked to himself, smugly watching him make a fool of himself – why he had never told him to stop and think – why he had waited and watched as he failed.

He hated Herc because he would have never been so stupid.

Douglas was glad to see the back of Hercules Shipwright. Now he could impress whoever he liked without anyone knowing that he was _trying_. He could be the best wherever he ended up and it would be _real_.

Life moved on and Douglas forgot about Herc – he forgot about anyone who hadn’t been instrumental in making his life better. Old GW and Rory remained nice and safe at the back of his mind, but the rest of his colleagues were abandoned to the recesses of his memory.

Carolyn Knapp-Shappey was exactly the sort of woman that would have knocked Herc flat, but Douglas found that strict as she was, she was also a good friend – exactly the sort of friend he needed, although neither of them would admit it. She knew exactly where he had fallen short, knew of all his mistakes save for the drinking and his efforts to stop, but she didn’t dig any deeper. She must have considered them character building, Douglas thought, and accepted her acceptance without question.

She let him be First Officer, didn’t build him too high a pedestal, and he felt happier than he had in years with the knowledge that he couldn’t be anything but more than she expected.

And _Arthur_ – blessed Arthur, who Douglas wouldn’t have traded for all the gold in the world. The boy was a menace at the best of times and a hindrance at the worst, but he admired him and welcomed him every day with a grin so wide he could outshine the sun. He was a clot, but he listened when Douglas corrected him.

Douglas got to be what he never was before... he got to be _kind_ , and useful, and someone of importance without ever having to try. It came so naturally to him in a way it never had at Air England, or at medical school, or at home.

“I suppose it’s just the two of us again,” Douglas remarked, the first flight after Nigel left. The Flight-Deck was quiet, and Arthur was shuffling around near the jump-seat, dithering over what he should do with his second cup of tea. Douglas waved his hand towards the First Officer’s seat – having assumed his rightful place – and waited for Arthur to get the hint. He didn’t. “Arthur,” Douglas sighed. “Pass me that – I’ll make your life easier and drink both, don’t you worry. Just sit down.”

“Thanks Douglas.” Arthur perched right on the edge of the First Officer’s seat. “And it’s not just the two of us, is it. Mum’s still here.”

“I suppose,” Douglas replied. Being the only pilot present, he resisted the urge to put his feet up on the control panel. He had never been able to do that before. Nobody would have allowed it, for one thing. “I just whoever she hires isn’t terribly dull.”

Martin was anything but dull, no matter what Douglas told him.

The Captain was another stickler, another smug one at that, but when Douglas breaks Martin didn’t stand back. He didn’t wait for him to fall even further, or rub it in his face. Martin softened and Douglas understood for once what it meant to let his guard down without ripping away the confidence that came with it.

Martin wasn’t Herc, even though he could have been. He listened, and he shared, and despite fighting everything Douglas ever told him he learned from their shared mistakes. Douglas let himself sink to Martin’s level, in some ways – at least that’s how he thought of it – and Martin relaxed, and just like that they were equals. It was an odd thing, learning that friends weren’t supposed to resent one another or strive to be each other, but support each other where they could or fail as a team.

For once, Douglas was happy with himself.

“Here, um – I bought you a drink,” Martin announced himself, in the tiny hotel bar that they had holed themselves up in. He held out a glass of apple juice, arm ramrod straight, cheeks pink and a look in his eye that suggested he might rescind his offer any second. “Not a drink, drink – just a, you know... I thought you could use one, but you don’t, so... Douglas, will you just take it, please?”

Douglas accepted the glass and waited for Martin to sit before he spoke.

“Dare I ask what this is in aid of?”

“Well, you know...” Martin said. Douglas didn’t, so he stayed silent, and Martin awkwardly cleared his throat. “I know you didn’t want to tell me today, about Helena I mean, a-and I... this is my way of saying I’m sorry, I suppose. I-I know you said it wasn’t my fault but... well... I told you some pretty personal stuff and you didn’t throw it back in my face, so I reckon we’re doing alright and I... I-I-it’s just a goodwill gesture.”

When they made a sad toast, Douglas noticed that Martin was drinking the same.

“Don’t feel like you have to abstain on my account,” he said. It wasn’t as though he could bring himself to say thank you.

“What? Oh, no... I’m not really in the mood for a proper drink,” Martin said. He shrugged. “This is nice.”

It was. This was how it was supposed to be, Douglas thought. A third marriage down the drain, and this was better than the first. Martin didn’t try and pat him on the back, or share his woes any more than he already had. He knew what it was like, feeling small.

Lo and behold, Hercules Shipwright turned up again. He was older, but no less smug and sanctimonious despite moving to Cal Air. Douglas was even pleased to see him at first. For a day at most, dismayed by Martin’s desire to leave, Douglas was blinded by the bond they had shared years before and honestly believed that his old friend would offer him a hand – help him along the way they had when they were starting out.

And Herc had turned him down, with his syrupy voice and his knowing gaze, and Douglas felt smaller than he had in years.

Hercules was out for himself, and Douglas wasn’t his colleague anymore. There was no need to keep him around for company, or to bolster his ego, and he probably had other friends with a passion for music and art and romance. It may not have been malicious at all, but Herc prodded and teased, and Douglas wondered whether he had _ever_ known just how much it chipped away at pre-existing cracks.

And then Carolyn went and fell in love with the man and Douglas was stuck with him.

It was different this time.

Arthur and Carolyn still wanted him around – valued him, even. Herc was just as poor a friend as before, but he was never unkind. Time had softened him, and Carolyn put him in his place and Douglas _hoped_ that he was beginning to understand what it felt like, trying to live up to someone else’s expectations.

Flying side by side again was bewildering and unpleasant, until Arthur ate a dragonfruit and Herc’s eyes widened with panic. He had no idea what to do. Douglas sighed and sorted them out, and wasn’t as pleased as he thought he might be.

Was there joy to be found in outshining Herc?

Did it even matter anymore? Everyone knew how low he could fall, and they knew how terrific he was in spite of that. He was comfortable, and moderately happy, if not miserable at the thought of saying goodbye to his closest friend. And Herc was desperately clinging to the heels of a woman who, twenty years before, he would have walked away from.

Douglas wondered at how people grew. Fate was a funny thing really.

Before Carolyn made him Captain, Douglas wondered whether he still wanted to be in Herc’s boots. To be perfectly honest, he didn’t even want to be in Martin’s place anymore. He had been content acting as First Officer to a man twenty years his junior. He was happy doing whatever Carolyn and Arthur asked at the click of their fingers. In fact, watching Herc now, he knew which one of them was vastly out of their depth.

It was hard to let go of jealousy though, when it had forged a fair few of his decisions.

~~~

Douglas tore his gaze from the airfield he could see over Carolyn’s shoulder and looked her in the eye. His fingers flexed in his pockets, but he otherwise measured his expression, giving the issue proper thought. He could lie. A peaceful life was looking more and more appealing, even if peace came in the form of sheer chaos.

Herc and Arthur had disappeared amongst the passengers.

“Well?” Carolyn demanded, impatience curtailing her tone. “Douglas, I need to know that there aren’t going to be any problems. I was ready to walk away from MJN – OJS – and not only for the money... I need to know this is worth it in the long term.”

“Carolyn...” Douglas hesitated, and regretted it immediately. She picked up on the pause as he sighed and shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you. You remember what it was like, before Martin came along. Can you really bear to go back to that?”

“A quiet Flight-Deck and no near crashes?”

“So you _do_ understand.”

“Douglas, I am being serious!”

“And so am I,” Douglas insisted. “Herc and I go back a long time. That’s a lot of baggage to sift through, and I have no intention of actually sifting anything. But we worked together for years, we can do it again. I won’t cause any trouble. You know I can’t afford to.”

“It’s not just you I’m concerned about,” Carolyn replied firmly.

Just like that, Douglas felt his weariness slip away. He didn’t want to look Carolyn in the eye any longer, but he refused to concede his point. So she saw it too, he realised – she knew perfectly well that Herc liked to antagonise him as much as he did. He also realised that she had had – or was going to have – another conversation in which she told Herc to behave. It might even be funny waiting to see if he would do it.

It was strange, but knowing that it wasn’t all in his head left Douglas feeling lighter than before, standing in a corridor in an airport he hadn’t particularly wanted to spend more time than was necessary in. It made all the years of resenting the man worth it – made Douglas wonder whether all those years that they had been competing and daring one another to do ridiculous things, Herc had been _trying_ one up him.

If he _had_ been trying, he was definitely losing right now... and that wasn’t worth missing.

“You know what, Carolyn.... I don’t think Herc has ever seen what GERTI does when you bring her down in a crosswind,” Douglas remarked. Carolyn raised an eyebrow and he smirked. “Now, I’m no expert – what am I saying? Of course I am, so... I happen to know that if the 747s he used to fly _ever_ did what GERTI does...”

“Oh, yes...” Carolyn’s eyes brightened. “Do you think he’s more afraid of plummeting than he is of sheep?”

“Shall we find out?”

Carolyn grinned and rubbed her wrinkled hands together. Then she stopped and fixed Douglas with a steely glare.

“This is all just fun and games, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean it, Douglas. Bite each other’s heads off, double cross one another... but I can’t have pilots who hate each other – not on my plane, and not with the fate of my company in their hands.”

Reluctantly, Douglas reached for the truth.

“I suppose... I don’t hate him... I don’t even dislike him, really,” he admitted. He began walking, knowing that she could keep up. “But you know as well as I do he could do with being taken down a peg or two.”

“Well, of course. That’s what I’m here for.”


End file.
